


War Bonds

by lzclotho



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, Homefront - Freeform, Womens Auxilary Army Corps, World War II, widows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 06:42:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3199328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lzclotho/pseuds/lzclotho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regina Mills is a widow who has traveled to New York City to join the Women's Auxiliary Army Corps following the death of her husband Daniel at Pearl Harbor. She meets Emma Swan, bakery shop worker, and her young son, Henry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fresh off the bus

**Author's Note:**

> The first couple chapters of this meet criteria for the SwanQueen Week in January 2015, hence the association with that challenge/collection. However, after that, it becomes a study of the American homefront during the period 1942-1945. It will also contain a same-sex relationship, but the romance is definitely a sub-plot, not the main plot.

 

Regina Mills took the last step off the Cross Country Bus Lines and took her first step onto the curb of a New York City street. In the dawning light, she could just barely see the sign on the corner post. Ninth and Broadway, she read.

From her portmanteau, she fished a piece of paper to read an address, 1184 Eighteenth Street. In careful script above were the letters, W A C.

The date she had written down the information was January 12, 1942, a little more than one month after her life, and the lives of hundreds of other military wives, had collapsed, sinking with the USS Arizona beneath a barrage of gunfire from Japanese zeros. Today it was just a week later, the 19th of January.

The world was at war. On December 9, 1941, President Roosevelt, answering the demands of Congress and the people, declared war on the Empire of Japan for the events of December 7. Germany had countered with its own declaration of war with the United States, and every able bodied male had lined up to be the first to go "over there."

The radio squawked constantly about war bonds, enlistment, and public drives for the war effort.

Regina had been widowed by the December 7 attack on Pearl Harbor's military base. Her husband, Col. Daniel Mills one of the many who died.

To keep herself from going mad, she constantly sought out things to do. However, it never seemed to quiet her frustrations nearly enough to simply be collecting goods for the war efforts, minding recruitment lines with lemonades for the men, or collecting trash metals.

She wanted to act. She had needed to get away from her western Massachusetts home where her mother looked at her with pitying sadness -- "you without even a poor babe to recall him."

She wanted to serve. Horrifying both her mother and James's mother, she wanted to fight.

Regina had been carrying yet another load of scrap metal to the factory yard in her hometown when she saw a woman talking with the dock manager. That a woman was talking with him wasn't a surprise; it seemed women organized everything now with all the men going overseas.

What drew Regina to the woman's side was her clothing, a uniform to be exact. Upon closer inspection, Regina saw an Army patch, and then another patch embroidered "Women's Army Corps."

Regina learned the woman had worked on a nearby base as a civilian secretary, when the War Department issued a statement that they were investigating putting women in a service capacity within the active forces. There would be commissions, officers, salary, and the women would take support positions both here and abroad.

It was Regina's dream. The woman told her that the training camp for the northeastern states was located in New York City, and Regina scribbled down the address and phone number.

Regina's mother and Daniel’s mother both begged her not to go.

Now, just days later, she had all she planned to keep as possessions with her in the portmanteau and about nine blocks further to walk. Determinedly, she set out.

New York City filed around her with vibrant sights and sounds. Shopkeepers opened for the day, and workers hurried to buses and down into the subway stations. Brakes squealed, horns honked, and the sound of voices filled her with a sense of life. It healed her in many ways, deep down, so dead following the loss of her husband. There were both acrid and pleasant smells, from the tanning chemicals at the leatherman's shop to the smells of boxes of flowers being bustled into the front door of a florist's shop.

The aroma of baking bread drew Regina's attention to a shop window. A handpainted sign proclaimed, "The Bred Shop." Her stomach rumbled and she recalled her lack of meals since the previous afternoon.

A bell jingled on the door as she pushed her way inside the tiny establishment.

**

Emma Swan looked up at the door jingle, from behind the counter at Roshenko's bread shop, to greet the morning's first customer. "Good morning," she said as her eyes came up. "May I help you?"

Her gaze finally leveled on the customer, a small woman carrying a large cloth bag, both hands wrapped around the handles as she looked around the shop's interior. The woman's hair was reddened in the backlight from the morning sun outside. Her eyes bore an openly curious expression when their blue depths met Emma's across the short distance.

"Do you have something small to eat?" the woman asked. Emma smiled, and the gesture brought the woman closer.

"I have many things to eat. What would you like?"

She watched as the woman examined the breads through the glass of the counter. Quickly Emma turned around, fetching the knife, and turned back to point out the soft rolls. "Mr. Roshenko's dipoula are most excellent, the butter is baked in, making it sweet and soft."

"I have no doubt. Do you have anything I might drink with it?"

Emma considered what to answer. Clearly "make the customer happy" would best be done answering 'yes' to the question. The business however was a shop, not a restaurant. Then she recalled the coffee Mr. Roshenko had set to brew in the back room before he went out to the storehouse to bring in new bags of flour from the rear yard that morning. "I do have coffee."

"That would be wonderful." The woman's voice was smoky soft, Emma thought, thoroughly pleased by its sound.

"Did you want the roll also?" Emma asked.

"Yes please, just one." She put down the bag and began to open it, obviously searching for her change purse.

"Wait until I bring it out," Emma said. "I’ll be right back."

"All right."

Emma quickly entered the back room where Mr. Roshenko had his icebox, and the larger counters for rolling out the dough. Quickly she rinsed a cup, and filled it from the open pot on the counter.

Returning to the front area, she set the cup on top of the glass case. "Here is your coffee," she said easily. "Now let me cut your sausage."

The woman stepped forward and gingerly retrieved the coffee mug, taking a cautious sip. "It is very good." She sipped again.

Emma selected a roll and wrapped it in a small piece of packing paper and handed it across the counter.

Their fingers touched as the other woman, whom she could now see was similar in age to herself, took the food. "What do I owe you?" she asked.

Emma quoted the price for the sausage. "Oh, but also the coffee." She considered the various lunch counters around the city. "Five more cents for that."

"Thank you." The woman set down the roll once again, found her change purse and fished out the requested amount.

Taking the coins, Emma asked, "You are new to the city?" She was strangely reluctant to let the woman simply walk out the door. She told herself it was part of assuring the customer was completely satisfied.

"I just came here, yes."

There was a hesitant smile which made Emma offer her own personal greeting. "Welcome to New York. What’s your name?" Emma asked.

"I, mmm, my name is Regina."

Emma smiled. "My name is Emma."

Regina smiled at her and Emma could see a dimple form in her left cheek. Behind Regina the door jingled again, announcing another customer. "I should be going" were the last words Emma heard as the woman looked from the new arrival, back to Emma, and then turned, walking out of the shop back onto the streets of New York.

Emma's gaze followed her, until it intersected with Mrs. Potiplacz, one of Mr. Roshenko's regular customers. "What will it be today, Mrs. Potiplacz?" she asked politely as the rotund woman, wearing a kerchief over her gray hair, started to open her mouth.

"I would like a loaf of the pumpernickel, and a few of the sweet biscuits for later."

Emma quickly set about filling her second customer's order, her first customer fading gradually from her mind. Between customers later, Emma went into the back room, noticing the coffee had gone cold. And too that she no longer had a cup to drink from herself. Regina had left with her small ceramic mug.

The thought brought a smile to her lips. There was a small possibility the woman would come back to the shop to return it. Emma hoped she was here to see her again.

**

Out on the street once again, Regina glanced over her shoulder to watch briefly as the blonde served the next customer. Her blonde hair was tied back, the ends curling over her shoulder despite the green kerchief securing her hair back from the food. Regina wondered if her husband was the shop owner. Though she had seen no marriage band on the woman’s hand. Still in mourning Regina wore hers on her hand. She glanced down at it now and a pang struck her heart.

Abruptly a clock somewhere chimed the hour. No more time for erratic thoughts. It was time to find the Army Corps office. Checking the street signs once again, she hurried on as she sought her new life.

**

 

 


	2. Room for let

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Henry are looking for a roommate. They get a late night visitor.

 

“Ma, I put the sign in the window,” the brunette boy scrambled back off the window bench and dusted his hands on his knickers. At ten years old, he was independent enough that he took himself to school while his mother worked at Mr. Roshenko’s store, and he helped around their tiny apartment with only small reminders.

“Thank you, Henry,” his mother said, stepping out from the small kitchen and wiping her hands on the small towel tied at her waist. “Tell me about school?” she asked.

“I want to listen to the radio,” he said.

“After we eat. And if your schoolwork is complete.”

Henry hung his head and nodded. “Yes, Ma.”

She scruffed her fingers through his hair and kissed his head nudging him toward the door. He scooped up the belted stack of books he had dumped by the door when he ran in from the street earlier.

“What did you learn today?” she asked him, sitting at the table where she could glance into the kitchen and see the small hourglass timer on the stovetop.

He sat next to her, opening one of his books to show her a page. “We are learning about how the Dutch settled New Amsterdam -- that’s New York,” he said excitedly. “Are we Dutch, Ma?”

“I don’t know, Henry. I never knew my parents.”

“Mrs. Tompkins showed us a lot of pictures of Dutch people. I thought some of them looked like you.”

Emma stood, uncomfortable with the knowledge, as always, that she had no idea who her parents were. She had been raised at the 49th Street Orphanage until she was fourteen. She’d met Henry’s father on the streets after that. A brief life of thievery had ended with Neal dead in the street and Emma pregnant and alone. She’d worked at laundries and other menial labor until stumbling across Mr. Roshenko when she was on her last dime. In need of food for herself and her son, she had been grateful when the man let her stay with him and his wife until Henry was entering school.

Then Emma had taken her meager savings and found this apartment. A string of roommates, some reliable, some not, all transient, had paraded in and out of her and Henry’s lives for the last five years. The last roommate had been a dancer who finally was going to marry one of the play directors who had hired her at a theater over on Broadway Avenue.

Emma stood, going to the stove and spooning the vegetable stew generously into a bowl for her son and a smaller portion for her son, “Are you certain the sign can be seen from the street?” she asked her son.

“Yes, Ma,” Henry said, setting aside his books before taking the soup bowl from her hands. “There are people coming to the city all the time. I bet we’ll have the room let by the end of the week.”

“I hope you’re right,” Emma said. He had written the sign, Emma being less skilled at writing or spelling -- no one cared that an orphan get decent schooling. She was silent for a few moments while she ate several bites of the dinner. Henry was finishing his last bite when she looked up at a knock on the door.

Henry grinned at her. “I’ll get it,” he said, jumping to his feet.

“Henry, wait. Be careful.” Emma rose quickly, hurrying to the door behind her son just as he flung the door wide.

Emma was tongue-tied as she recognized the woman on the threshold of the apartment from Roshenko’s that morning.

“I--” she seemed startled but then pressed on quickly. “I’m sorry to bother you so late,” the woman said. Emma recalled her name: Regina. “But I was wondering if the room for let is still available?”

“I only just put the sign up tonight,” Henry said proudly.

Regina looked at Emma’s son and a pained shadow passed across her eyes. “You did? You write very well.”

“I’m ten,” Henry informed her. Emma tried to warn him to be more cautious with his sharing by putting a hand on his shoulder.

“The room is still available,” Emma said. “Do you have employment?”

“I am going to be part of the new Women’s Auxiliary Army Corps,” Regina said.

“Army women!” Henry gushed. “Cool! Will you wear a uniform?”

“Yes. They tell me that it is mostly office work, but we will be fully part of the military service.”

Emma pulled on Henry’s shoulder. “Are you carrying a gun? I won’t have a gun here.”

Regina shook her head. “They will train us to use one, but no, I will not carry a gun. My husband --”

“You’re married? Then why are you --” Henry fell silent when Emma’s squeeze cut him off.

She recognized the pained expression as Henry’s curiosity poked at what was clearly a recent wound for the brunette. “We are sorry for your loss,” Emma said.

“I am still getting used to the knowledge he is gone,” Regina admitted.

“Well, I think we should invite you in, offer you some dinner. If you decide it is palatable, perhaps we will take down the sign from the window.”

“I’d like to know more about the terms.”

“Eight-fifty a week, which covers a third of the electric and groceries, as well as giving you your own room.” Emma stepped back. “It’s this way.”

Henry took Regina’s pea coat and Emma showed her the room which lay to the left of the small bathroom. “Henry sleeps in the other room.”

“And you?” Regina asked. “Where do you sleep?”

“The couch,” Emma pointed. “I leave very early to work at Roshenko’s.”

“But I…”

“The sign said room for let, not couch,” Emma interjected.

They were silent, Regina’s gaze inscrutable and Emma’s equally stubborn. Regina’s darker skin grew ruddy.

“It’s late,” Emma said. “I’ll expect rent on Fridays, so we can do shopping on Saturday.”

“I’ll help with the cooking.”

Henry smiled widely at that. “Can you make stuff other than vegetable stew?”

Regina’s expression was bemused as she looked from Emma to Henry. “Yes, I can.”

“That settles it. You’re moving in,” Henry said, taking Regina’s hand and leading her to the table. “We were just eating dinner.”

Regina sat slowly in what had been Henry’s seat. She stared at Emma who sat slowly back in her own seat while Henry banged around in the kitchen, putting a bowl of vegetable stew together for their new roommate.

“So, you said you were new to the city this morning,” Emma said quietly while Henry was still out of the room.

“I had just arrived on a bus before I entered the shop,” Regina confirmed. “How long have you and Henry lived here?”

“We’ve had the apartment for five years. I’ve lived in New York all my life.”

“I’m from western Massachusetts,”

“And you were married?”

“My -- Daniel,” Regina said softly. “He died at Pearl Harbor.”

“I really am sorry,” Emma said.

“What of Henry’s father?” Regina asked as Henry emerged, placing a bowl in front of her and handing her a fork.

“My dad was a thief,” Henry said matter-of-factly. “Your husband was a soldier?”

“Yes, he was.”

“Soldiers are good guys,” Henry said. “Maybe Ma can marry a soldier.”

Emma chastised her son, “Now, Henry. Stop. Eat your dinner.”

“Yes, Ma.” Henry dipped his head and quietly went about eating the remaining portion of his dinner. He stole glances toward Regina every so often. Emma couldn’t blame him. The brunette was a handsome woman, dark brown eyes, slender features, cocoa skin. And her clothes were tidy and of good quality. A soldier’s salary had obviously been enough for her and her husband to live well.

Emma’s fork struck china jarringly and she realized she had finished her dinner without tasting most of it. She stood abruptly and took her dish and silverware into the kitchen.

Regina was right behind her. “I can make myself useful,” she said.

“Henry usually finishes his homework at the table while I wash the dishes.”

“I’ll dry then.”

Emma handed her new roommate a dishtowel and began running warm water into the sink. “I hope you will like it here,” she said, turning away to face the sink.

“I think I will,” Regina replied, moving to stand alongside Emma at the sink. Emma’s stomach flipped nervously. She cast her gaze to the side, meeting brown eyes. Tentatively she returned the woman’s smile.

**

  
  



End file.
